total bullshit and other pleasures of the flesh

First, hello! Welcome to the first real blog entry on this site. I’ll spare you the introductions and promises, except to say: when my life is interesting, I’ll write about it. This is, after all, a site about a poetry tour. When it isn’t (I do, after all, live in a suburb), I will write about other things. To wit:

Last night, I went to see the seventh film in the Saw series, creatively entitled Saw 3D: The Final Chapter. If you are unfamiliar with this fine series of films, they are about a fellow named John who abducts minor sinners and puts them in hellish and difficult-to-escape traps (like this one). John has successors, and there are bumbling detectives and there is moralizing about the hypocrisy of ordinary people, but Saw is like Playboy: even if you like the articles, you still stare at Miss November’s tits for a good long while. You still listen to the screaming and cheer when the viscera flies in shoddy 3D.

I have a love-hate relationship with total bullshit. I’ve been known to turn to Tool Academy in the middle of bad relationships. I follow Glee. And I can’t help but recognize Saw for what it is: a morality play that pokes at the mind’s dirtiest parts while lecturing its audience about living a less-than-virtuous life. It is like scat porn with Scriptures being sung to the bow-chicka-bow-wow music, and it is endlessly and unironically compelling to me. Even enjoyable. And I don’t feel like a terrible person for that.


Anyway, I didn’t really have a huge, awesome point, I just wanted to express a preference for Miss November’s guts over her tits. Also, when I talked to David Perez (if you know me, you probably know him — if not, click the link that says “The Pincushion Orchestra” over there to your right) about this, he compared Jigsaw to the white activists who go into some mostly-non-white community, gentrify the shit out of it and make everything shitty. Jigsaw talks about them like forcible rehab: live or die, make your choice.

Further reading: Hacksaw, by my academic soulmate Trevor Liam Byrne-Smith. We met when I got trashed and tried to tell him how good the Saw movies are. However, everything he says in this poem is true.


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